


The Doctor Will See You Now

by bloodsoakedleather



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Humor, M/M, Male Slash, Non-Graphic Violence, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-07
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 13:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodsoakedleather/pseuds/bloodsoakedleather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With nothing more exciting to do while he's waiting for his latest criminal master plan to reach it's conclusion, Moriarty decides to tail Doctor John Watson as he goes about his ordinary life but when they find themselves in the middle of an attempted bank robbery, things suddenly become anything but ordinary. Rated T for now but will go up in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, John, Moriarty or Lestrade in any of their incarnations. This is just for fun.

THE DOCTOR WILL SEE YOU NOW

Jim Moriarty was not a man who liked to get his hands dirty and in spite of his insanely high standards he was usually content to sit back and relax while his minions ran around London, and indeed sometimes the world, doing his bidding. Sometimes though, out of necessity rather than choice because the task at hand was a little too delicate or too important to be entrusted to anyone else, he would find himself in the position of having to do his own legwork. And sometimes, on very rare occasions, because devious criminal master plans didn't just fall into place in a single night you know, these things took time and he did so hate waiting, he would do it simply because he was bored. And there was nothing that relieved his boredom more effectively than playing games with Sherlock Holmes and his loyal pet Doctor John Watson.

He had been tailing the good doctor for three days now. The latest game being see how long it takes before dear John realises he's being followed and by who. If he hadn't noticed by the end of the week Jim decided, he would end this game and start another. If John had not noticed by the end of the week he would allow his surveillance to be discovered then sit back and watch while the detective and his pet ran themselves ragged trying to figure out what his latest, non existent, scheme was and how the doctor fitted into it. It would be so much fun.

Today was apparently John's day off so instead of the clinic, Jim had followed him through a series of really quite boring errands. He dropped off one of Sherlock's suits at the dry cleaners, bought a birthday card for his sister Harry, returned a library book without taking out another then went to the bank to withdraw the rent money for Mrs Hudson. Jim knew every little detail of John's ordinary little life and it gave it him a perverse thrill to know that the rare moments of real excitement were all related, either directly or indirectly, to him.

Disguised fairly simply beneath a wig just a few shades lighter than his own hair and an inch or so longer, because he didn't want to make it too easy for Johnny boy but he didn't want to make it too hard either, and wearing a pair of high street designer brand jeans and casual fitted shirt with the cuffs rolled up to the elbow, he sat with one foot resting heavily on his knee on the sofa reserved for customers waiting to see the manager or mortgage advisor or whomever else ordinary people made appointments to see in banks.

He peered discreetly over the top of his newspaper, chuckling softly to himself as he listened to John explaining to the lumpy, insipid blonde at the help desk just a few feet away, that the cash machine had eaten his card... again. Ah yes, cash machines, ordinary people relied on them so much, they trusted that their stupidly simplistic four digit pin codes were adequate to keep them safe from fraud or theft. Whatever would they think if they knew just how easy they were to hack, he wondered. Well, he'd had to do something to make things a little more interesting hadn't he?

Another chuckled bubbled in this throat. He was about to hear exactly what John Watson thought, and judging by the pink tinge that had crept up above his collar and was now making it's way up his neck to his very tightly clenched jaw, and the frustrated growl he was plainly finding it hard to contain, so were the rest of the banks customers. Clearly the good doctor did not actually have the patience of a saint after all. He'd have to remember that, for future reference.

Just as John was about to vent his considerable anger, something in the corner of Jim's eye caught his attention and he looked towards the door, temporarily forgetting about Doctor Watson.

Two men had just entered the bank. Both looking to be in their late twenties, both wearing the same style and colour of jacket with the hoods pulled up over their heads, both of them jumpy, movements erratic, possibly drunk, more than likely coming down from a high of some sort. Armed too if the bulges in their jacket pockets were any indication.

Ooooh. Really? Bank robbers? Amateurs obviously, no hope of succeeding in their little criminal endeavour but still, genuine, honest to goodness bank robbers.

Suddenly things had just got a whole lot more not ordinary.

 

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	2. Chapter 2

Still concealed behind his newspaper, Jim glanced around the interior of the bank, instantly taking note of every little detail that might prove to be of some relevance to the predicament he now found himself in and discarding that which he deemed to be unimportant or inconsequential.

It took him barely four seconds, okay maybe five, to thoroughly assess the situation.

First, the layout of the room. This was in fact, quite a sizeable building for it's purpose, the main waiting area and lobby were spacious but rather bare aside from the sofas, a small coffee table and small selection of children's toys. The staff were safely ensconced behind glass and separated from the main floor by a security door which could only be opened by a six digit key-code, 817691. That said, the presence of the woman on the helpdesk who Jim had nicknamed Boring Brenda in his mind despite the badge on her ample bosom which identified her as Cheryl, rendered the thing as good as useless. She would undoubtedly give up the code at the slightest threat to her dreary person. Why were ordinary people always so afraid of dying?

To the left, a row of small individual offices housed the manager, assistant manager, mortgage advisors, and suchlike, giving customers a place to discuss their financial woes in privacy. There were no desks on the main floor. All of this meant that once the shooting started, which it inevitably would and quite soon too unless he was mistaken which of course he wasn't, there would be plenty of space for panicked clucking and flapping but very few places to actually hide.

The front of the building was made entirely of glass, large double doors and floor to ceiling windows displaying advertising posters but with space enough between through which Jim could clearly see the rear end of the probable getaway vehicle. A nine year old Megane, obviously not theirs but not stolen either, these boys weren't clever enough to steal something so inconspicuous. More than likely borrowed from a young female family member judging by the number of stuffed toys on the parcel shelf. Wouldn't she be pleased when she found out why they'd borrowed her car and that she couldn't pick her little darling up from school in it now because it was evidence? Ordinary people and their morals and responsibilities. The car itself however was of considerably less importance than the fact that he could see it at all. That he could see out of the windows so easily meant that passers by could see in with only marginally less ease. Plenty of witnesses then, the police would arrive fairly quickly, even if no alarm was sounded, though he was fairly sure it would be.

People though, both staff and customers alike, were a somewhat more tricky issue. People generally, even the slightly less boring ones, could be disgustingly predictable in their stupidity when they were scared which effectively made them unpredictable… or at least slightly less predictable than usual, though Jim was certain he'd accounted for all of the possible variables from tears and fainting, heart attacks and strokes to runners and escape attempts and everything in between.

Six of the eight counters were staffed, a customer at each and the queue of people still waiting was a dozen deep. In the seated area, besides Jim, seven were waiting for appointments, two couples and three singles. Behind John at the helpdesk, and elderly woman with a wheeled trolley had formed the beginnings of another queue and a young guy in a suit, an office worker from a nearby building who was very soon going to regret visiting the bank during his lunch break had just entered behind the would be bank robbers.

In total, himself included along with those non customers accompanying actual customers, but not the robbers there were forty-four people. Forty-four potential hostages. Sixteen men, twenty women and eight children. Nine oap's, twenty-one over thirties and six twenty-something's, Four couples, twenty-eight singles. Six parents, grandparents or guardians with eight pre-schoolers between them. And of course, the biggest variable of them all, one forty-ish, slightly frayed around the edges, ex army doctor turned GP with tendancies towards extreme heroism… Dr John Hamish Watson.

John, it was safe to say was unlike any of the banks other customers. John, dear John was unpredictably predictable. While blissfully ignorant of the drama about to unfold for the moment, he would not remain so for much longer. His hackles would rise soon enough and his military training would kick in, alerting him to the presence of danger before the gunfire began and there was little doubt in Jim's mind that the good doctor would be ready to spring into action in a split second in order to protect the lives of innocent civilians. It was what he'd trained to do after all. What made it all so deliciously interesting and dare he say it, almost exciting, was that Jim could not predict exactly what form that action would take.

Frustrated and angry with Cheryl who it seemed to him was deliberately inept, John turned to apologise to the woman behind him for taking so long at the very same moment as Jim folded his newspaper neatly and put it on the coffee table in front of him. Their eyes locked. Jim grinned and waggled his eyebrows, John frowned hard and pursed his lips, hands clenching into fists at his sides.

"You!" He hissed, taking a step towards the other man, forgetting his place in the queue. "What the…"

'No time to explain Sweetness.' Jim mouthed back silently, his eyes flickering towards the two armed men. The furrow in John's brow deepened as he followed Moriarty's gaze. It took a moment but then Jim could almost hear the penny drop .

Jim read the silent 'Oh bloody fucking Hell, you've got to be kidding me' on John's lips and the question in his eyes as he turned back.

'They're not mine Love, I have so much more class than that.' He answered, but before John had chance to think or say anything else, the gunmen withdrew their weapons.

One of the men, ushered the guy in the suit into the middle of the room while the taller of the two fired a shot into the ceiling, shaking his head when plaster dust fell on it.

"THIS IS A R, ROBBERY!" He stammered loudly, raising his voice an octave as the customers and staff began to scream and cry. "N, NOBODY MOVE!"

Jim uncrossed his legs and leant back in his sofa with an amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Well, he thought, let the fun begin.

 

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	3. Chapter 3

The taller of the two robbers, now dubbed Clyde by Jim as he appeared to be the one in charge… sort of, continued.

"ALL WE WANT IS THE M, MONEY! WE DON'T W, WANT TO HURT ANYONE B, BUT WE WILL IF W, WE HAVE TO!"

"YEAH!" Piped up the smaller man, hereafter known as Bonnie, because well… it amused Jim. "SO DO AS YOU'RE TOLD AND WE WON'T BLOW YOUR BRAINS OUT!" He waved his gun erratically, in a manner Jim presumed was meant to appear menacing, not aiming at any particular target.

Jim sighed quietly and rolled his eyes. Really, do as you're told and we won't blow your brains out. How cliché. How boring. Didn't the criminal classes have any imagination these days?

Clyde delivered a somewhat half arsed elbow to Bonnie's ribs and gave him a brief but stern stare before turning his attention back to the bank customers who could now officially be called hostages.

"Right, okay." He said, his voice sounding a little more normal now. He pointed at the help desk woman. "You, stay where you are. Everyone else get into the middle of the room and sit down. Bonnie aimed his gun at the woman to assure her compliance and Clyde used his to herd the assembled hostages, John included, into the designated area where they all sat obediently, crying and snivelling. Jim didn't move from the sofa and John could tell he had no intention of doing so at this precise moment. Clyde huffed impatiently. "Oi! I said get in the middle of the room and sit down."

"But you said don't move first." Jim whined, playacting. Clyde frowned, wrinkling his nose and chewing his bottom lip in bewilderment.

"And… and then I said get in the middle of the room so… so do as you're told."

He grabbed Jim by the collar and Jim allowed himself to be manhandled over to where the rest of the sobbing, hysterical hostages sat, mother's clutching their children to their breasts and wives clutching husbands, holding them back, keeping them from imagined heroics. He tumbled dramatically to the ground when given a slight shove and crawled hurriedly over to John where he snuggled tightly against his side and buried his face in his shoulder.

"What the…" John began but was cut off.

"Tell your boyfriend he'd better behave from now on or we'll shoot you first to teach him a lesson."

John glared down at the top of the Irishman's head and then back up at Clyde.

"He's not my… we're not… I'm not…" He noticed some of the other hostages were looking at them, he felt Jim smirk into his shoulder and sighed heavily. "Oh never mind. Wait. What? Shoot me first?" Great, so I've been singled out as a target. Just bloody wonderful. "If we get out of this alive I'll bloody kill you myself." He hissed through gritted teeth, quietly enough that no one but Jim would hear.

"Now now, Johnny boy, there's no need to be like that. I'm just as much a victim in all of this as anyone else."

"You're an arse is what you are. And for the record I'm still not sure who's more dangerous here… the idiots with the guns or you."

Jim disentangled himself from John's side and looked up at him with a hurt expression.

"Well duh. That would be me… obviously." He drawled in his thick Irish brogue and rolling his eyes theatrically.

John closed his eyes and groaned quietly. He could feel a headache slowly building and he pinched the bridge of his nose hard. When he opened his eyes again, Jim was still staring at him unnervingly.

"So, what's the plan then?" He asked. "You have got a plan right? What am I saying? Of course you've got a plan, devious criminal mastermind like yourself. It must be Plans 'R' Us inside your head. Yeah you've got a plan, you're Jim Moriarty, you've always got a plan. Come on then, what is it? Spit it out."

"Well actually, now you come to mention it…" His smirk grew wider and his eyes sparkled manically. "No. No plan at all. Exciting isn't it?"

 

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	4. Chapter 4

John blinked, then blinked again, staring right at Jim with a disbelieving frown.

"You winding me up?" He asked.

Jim shook his head, his manic grin spreading further across his face.

"Sorry love. Not this time."

The disbelieving stare went on, and on, slowly morphing into one of frustrated resignation..

"You're not winding me up. You really don't have a plan. Bloody Hell! How can you, of all people, not have a plan? Christ!" He ran his fingers through his short, sandy hair and sighed.

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint, but in case you forgot, I've had rather a lot on my mind lately. I'm a very busy man John, I don't have time to sit around devising random ingenious plans on the off chance that I might one day find myself in a situation where one might be useful. It might surprise you to learn that I've never actually been involved in a bank robbery before." John raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Well, not one that wasn't by my own design anyway." Jim qualified. "Even I couldn't have predicted that this was going to happen."

"Alright, alright. I get the point." John hissed.

Bonnie and Clyde who had, during the course of Jim and John's hushed conversation, been huddled together in one of their own, broke apart then. Clyde spun round and glared at the group, his gaze coming quickly to rest upon the two troublemakers.

"OI!" He shouted, once again brandishing the gun as if it were nothing. "I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO BEHAVE! NOW SHUT UP… ALL OF YOU!" He glared even harder at Jim who he'd obviously decided was the root cause of the trouble. "Or do you want me to shoot your boyfriend?"

"NO!" John interrupted, sounding slightly more panicked than he really cared to admit, but then he supposed that's what having your life threatened by an armed madman did for you. "He's just scared, aren't you love?" He cringed inwardly at the sound of his own voice directing such an endearment at none other than Jim Moriarty. He cringed even more when Jim nodded and pouted and wrapped his arms around him. "We're all scared. There are kids here for God sake, you can't expect kids to be quiet when you're waving a gun around and threatening to shoot people."

Clyde stared at him for a moment, then at the hostages like he had just noticed the children for the first time. He snorted and half nodded.

"Alright, just keep it down. Too much noise and these kids are going to see something they don't want to see. Got it?"

"Yeah. We've got it."

As Clyde turned back to his friend one of the mothers, thirty-ish with dyed red hair scraped back into a tight, Croydon facelift style ponytail and sporting hooped earrings big enough to put a fist through, gave him a grateful look and hugged her toddler closer. John smiled back politely and Jim noted the exchange with a smirk.

"I think you could be in there Johnny boy." He grinned. "Should I be jealous?"

"Oh give it a rest."

Situation under control, Clyde returned now to the original plan.

"You!" He said, pointing his gun directly at Cheryl, stroke, Boring Brenda. "You know the code for that door right?" He indicated the security door that Jim had observed just a few minutes ago. Brenda nodded between sniffles. "Good. Open it." Predictably, she did as she was told without even a token protest for appearance sake and with Bonnie keeping his gun trained on her, Clyde set about shooing the cashiers out from behind their safety glass shield and onto the carpet with the other hostages.

Once they were seated, he reached inside his hoodie with his free hand, as did Bonnie, and both men withdrew a crumpled pillow case which they tossed at Brenda.

"Fill 'em." Bonnie ordered.

"Notes only." Clyde added. "And be quick."

The snivelling woman set about her task immediately, pushing the button that released that released the catch on the first drawer, taking out all of the notes and shoving them into the pillow case as quickly as she could before moving on to the next.

While she was busy, Jim cast a brief look over the newly seated cashiers. All but one were equally as terrified as the other hostages but one, probably the head cashier given that he was at least a decade older than the others, balding and sweaty with a beer belly hanging over the waistband of his trousers that wasn't quite contained by his shirt, seemed only very slightly less concerned. He knew the police were on their way because he had pressed the alarm button. Jim had noticed the faint twitch of his arm beneath the desk just before he'd been hurried out from the locked room. Of course it could have been a nervous twitch but the anxious looks he kept directing towards the front window said that Jim's original conclusion was the correct one.

Brenda was now almost done emptying the third cash drawer and Bonnie and Clyde, while not quite oblivious to the hostages, were paying more attention to her than them. The cashier, Gary according to his name badge, leant over and whispered rather more loudly than was strictly necessary though neither robber seemed to hear.

"It's alright, there's no need to worry. I've raised the alarm, the police will already be on their way by now."

At that, the hostages all seemed to let out a collective silent sigh of relief. All except Jim and John that was. John groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He supposed it was inevitable that the police would arrive sooner or later but he'd been hoping for later. Their arrival with the crime still in progress was bound to agitate the robbers, make them panic, and that was not likely to end well. A sideways glance at Jim told him the other man was thinking more or less the same thing.

"So, no plan then." He whispered through clenched teeth and a fake smile. Jim shook his head apologetically, sort of. "Doesn't matter. It's fine, it's all fine. We don't need a plan. A plan only works when everyone does their part anyway right and there's no telling what those two are going to do. So, we play it by ear, bide our time until we see an opportunity then we make our move."

Jim cocked his head and gave John a curious look.

"Make a move." He said, raising one eyebrow and smirking in amusement. "Are you feeling heroic Johnny boy?"

John bristled at the tone of Jim's voice. Only Jim Moriarty would find something amusing in their current situation. The bastard. God John hated him. He glared hard at the Irishman and hissed his reply.

"Are you?"

 

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	5. Chapter 5

"Well, are you?" John folded his arms across his chest and gave Jim a hard, questioning stare when he failed to give an immediate answer. The question was clear. 'Or are you really just a great big coward deep down?'

Jim thought for a moment longer, schooling his features into a thoughtful frown chewing his lip and tapping his finger against his chin in an exaggerated fashion.

"I don't know. I haven't decided yet." He said at last, causing John to roll his eyes and sigh.

"Well, make your bloody mind up will you, before we lose our advantage."

Jim frowned, genuinely curious for once in his life. The idea of gaining an advantage wasn't one he'd considered. He'd been quite happy just to let things play out naturally for a while longer and see what happened. If the need arose later he was more than capable of thinking on his feet but the military man in John was obviously not prepared to leave anything to chance. A strategy was beginning to form in his mind and Jim was inordinately pleased about that. He was eager to see exactly where the good doctor's strategy was going to take them.

"So you think we have an advantage do you Doctor?" He asked.

"Of course." John said, raising an eyebrow. "It's obvious isn't it?"

It actually wasn't. It was a little irksome, but if ever he found himself in a similar situation with the good doctor in the future, he'd be sure to give the matter a little more thought that time.

"Enlighten me." He answered, fixing the other man with a smirk.

John sighed.

"Well, I'm a soldier…"

"Ex soldier." The Irishman pointed out. John ignored the jibe.

"And you're a criminal mastermind." Jim nodded and waited for the doctor to continue. "But thanks to you…" John nodded in the direction of their captors. "They think we're a couple and I very much doubt they're going to see a pair of middle aged gay blokes as much of a threat."

"I beg your pardon?" Jim bristled slightly. "Middle aged indeed? I am soooo not middle aged."

"Oh for the…" John sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face. He muttered something under his breath and Jim thought he made out the word vain in there somewhere. "What are you? Thirty-seven, thirty-eight?"

Jim folded his arms across his chest, wrinkled his nose, turned his head away and looked sideways at John out of the corner of his eye.

"I'm thirty-five."

"So. Like I said, middle aged." He shook his head lightly. "Anyway, right now they don't see us as a threat." Both men looked over to where Bonnie and Clyde were fussing over Brenda and a pillowcase full of cash. "And they're a bit preoccupied. I think we can take them by surprise, get their guns away from them before things get out of hand." He paused briefly. "You can hear the sirens right?"

Jim nodded. He'd heard them quite some time before John had.

"Of course."

"Well, I don't think they've noticed yet but it's only a matter of time and when they do, they're going to panic. I don't need to tell you that guns and panic are a dangerous mix. So, we've got to stop them before it gets to that point" He paused just briefly. "That woman is nearly finished emptying the drawers, then they're probably going to shove her over here with the rest of us. That'll most likely be when they give us the talk."

"The talk?" Jim asked.

"Yeah, you know… Sit tight, don't do anything stupid, wait five minutes before you call the police."

"Ah yes, the talk."

"So anyway, what I'm thinking is, we wait until they're done talking and they turn to walk away, then we tackle them. You and me, one each. Yank their legs right out from under them and they'll go down flat on their faces that way there's no one in front of us if one of the guns goes off accidentally. We can easily wrestle the guns away from them once they're down. What do you think?"

"I think…" Jim answered thoughtfully. You probably won't like what I'm thinking Johnny boy. A grin crept slowly across his face and he leaned forward to whisper in John's ear, so close his lips were almost touching the small fleshy lobe, and drawled. "I think you're really quite sexy when you take charge Doctor."

John immediately jerked his head backwards and stared at Jim as if trying to decide if he'd actually heard what he thought he'd heard. Jim answered with a wink.

"Oh God." John grimaced. "That… is quite possibly the creepiest, most disturbing thing anyone's ever said to me. Really. I mean it. Thanks."

Jim's grin grew wider, ignoring the not so subtle hint of sarcasm.

"You're welcome."

"Does that mean you are going to help?"

Just like that, Jim went from flirty to petulant.

"No. I don't think I am. I'm still mad at you for the middle aged remark." He grumbled.

John glared at him.

"Are you sulking? Bloody Hell, you're worse than Sherlock." He exhaled loudly and pinched the bridge of his nose briefly. Jim pretended not to notice. "Never mind, forget I asked. I don't need your help anyway. I'm more than capable of handling myself in a fight, even against two armed men. It wouldn't be the first time." He took a moment to look round, assessing his surroundings in much the same way, Jim mused, as he himself had done earlier.

The sirens had gone silent now, that meant the Police were close, very close, didn't want to spook anyone. Jim thought he heard the faint screech of brakes and the hollow metallic thump of a car door being closed. One look at John and he knew the doctor had heard it too.

"Shit." John mumbled beneath his breath. He gave Jim a look. If you're not going to help the least you can do is play along. It said. Slowly he shuffled to one side, shifted his weight to one hip and took a deep breath. "Right. Here goes nothing."

 

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	6. Chapter 6

Here goes nothing indeed, Jim thought as he watched and waited to see what the good doctor would do, head tilted almost imperceptibly to one side.

John’s own head also tilted to one side, somewhat more noticeably than Jim’s for obvious reasons. A low, pained groan escaped John’s lips, quietly at first, slowly building in volume until it became a wail. His shoulders twitched, as did his legs and he toppled onto his side, shaking violently and rolling his eyes back into his head so only the whites could be seen.

Ooohhh. Clever boy Johnny. Jim grinned to himself as he rushed forward to cradle his boyfriend, playing along not because John had asked him to but because it was all so deliciously not boring and actually strangely fun.

All, ALL, eyes turned.

“Sweetie!” He cried in mock concern as he held the other man against him, stroking his hair. He felt rather than saw John tense and struggled to keep his chuckle at bay. “John darling, it’s okay, I’ve got you.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Bonnie demanded, appearing at their side and nodding in John‘s direction. “What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s having a seizure.” Jim answered, the chuckle still bubbling just beneath the worried look.

“He’s epileptic?” One of the hostages asked helpfully. Jim didn’t bother to look up and see which one, it wasn’t important or interesting.

“Yes.” He nodded. John‘s shaking had stopped now and he lay limply across Jim‘s lap. “He was only diagnosed recently. The doctors are still playing with his medication trying to figure out which one is best for him. I was told to take him straight to the hospital if he had another seizure.”

He forced out a tear and silently applauded his own acting skills. If only John were able to see, he‘d be so proud.

At that moment Clyde, who had hung back when John had launched into his act, appeared to notice the police presence.

“OI!” He called out to his partner. Bonnie turned. “We’ve got company.”

For a moment the man just stared out of the window at the line of police cars that was assembling in the street outside, then he stared back at John.

“Shit.” He mumbled. “Shit, shit, SHIT!!!” He scrubbed the hand that wasn’t holding a gun over his face and cursed loudly again. “FUCK!!!”

“THIS IS THE POLICE!” A megaphone assisted voice called out then, as if it were somehow necessary that it identified itself. “MY NAME IS INSPECTOR GREG LESTRADE!” John shifted slightly in Jim’s lap. Ah yes, the friend in Scotland Yard. “WE HAVE THE BANK SURROUNDED! THERE ARE ARMED OFFICERS AT EVERY EXIT, THERE’S NO WAY OUT!” Cliché. Boring. “THEY WILL SHOOT YOU IF THEY HAVE TO BUT TRUST ME, NONE OF US WANTS THAT! THERE’LL BE AN ENQUIRY, WE’LL ALL HAVE TO SEE THERAPISTS, AND YOU WOULDN’T BELIEVE THE AMOUNT OF PAPERWORK!” Lestrade paused for a moment. “SO PLEASE, STAY CALM UNTIL WE ESTABLISH A PHONE LINK AND THEN WE CAN TALK PROPERLY AND FIND A SOLUTION TO THIS THAT SUITS EVERYONE…OKAY?”

Inside the bank Bonnie and Clyde looked at each other, panicked. 

“Fucking Hell Tone.“ So Bonnie’s real name was Tony. How dull. “What are we gonna do now?“

“I don’t know, just shut up and let me think for a minute.” He snapped, slowly pacing just a few steps back and forth. The phone at the help desk rang, making the two robbers start quite visibly. They eyed it suspiciously. Jim watched them both silently out the corner of his eye, anticipating their next move, the one that John had hoped they would make.

“Tone…” Clyde whined.

“I SAID SHUT UP! FUCK! Okay, I’ll answer that, you grab gayboy over there and get him over to the window where they can see him.”

Jim leant forward and pressed his lips to John’s ear under the pretence of a kiss and whispered…

“It worked. Congratulations.” John had successfully made himself a target, thus keeping the other hostages out of immediate danger while simultaneously placing himself in prime position to make his move when the time was right.

While he mused over the good doctor’s bravery and ingenuity, Clyde stalked towards them and Jim quickly found himself shoved onto his back, John yanked roughly out of his arms.

“What are you doing with him?” He asked, affecting a broken sob as he scrambled after them.

“STAY FUCKING PUT OR I WILL SHOOT HIM RIGHT NOW!” Clyde yelled, lifting his gun and pressing the muzzle against John’s temple. John murmured as if only vaguely conscious.

Jim stopped, exactly where he wanted to be, somewhere between the main group and the window where he could more clearly see what was going on outside without craning his neck.

Bonnie picked up the phone. Jim didn’t need to hear the other side of the conversation to know what was being said. It didn’t take a genius, though he strongly suspected that no one else here could do it. Well, maybe John but definitely no one else.

“…..Yes. …..Think I’m bloody stupid do you? …..We’ve got hostages, one of them needs a doctor.” At the window, Clyde jostled John, drawing attention to him. John was dead weight against him, Jim could see the other man was struggling to hold him up with just the one arm and every now and again his feet shifted in an attempt to hold his balance. “…..Not a chance, he’s our insurance. …..That’s right. We want a car, a nice one, and a safe route out of here. He comes with us and when we’re far enough away we’ll let him go. …..That’s your choice, but if that car’s not here in ten minutes we’ll shoot him. Then we’ll take one of the kids.”

The parents and guardians all squealed and sobbed and hugged their children tighter. Jim doubted very much that either of the two armed men had the guts to deliberately shoot another person, let alone a child. Any shootings in here were likely to be in the midst of a panic and accidental. He was pretty sure the ex army doctor shared his doubts too but of course John being John, brave and selfless and heroic and really quite fascinating deep down now that he bothered to look, wasn’t prepared to take any chances.

The doctor murmured again, stumbling to his left. Clyde’s feet shuffled slightly apart and he bent his knees a little, ready to lever John into a more upright position and…

John’s back suddenly straightened. He opened his eyes and stared directly and his shocked captor… then head butted him. As he stumbled forward, clutching his head with his free hand, John delivered a vicious chop to the back of his neck which made him crumple, losing his grip on the gun as he fell to the floor. It bounced across the carpet a couple of times and came to a stop just a few feet away. John eyed it and lunged.

A sharp hiss and a clattering sound drew Jim’s attention away from the action and over to the desk where the telephone receiver swung back and forth on it’s wire, abandoned in a hurry. Bonnie had raised his gun. Jim followed the direction of barrel with his eyes then looked back to the man who was aiming it. His trigger finger twitched and for possibly the first time in his life Jim did something without any kind of premeditated thought for what he might have to gain, or lose, from the situation.

He acted purely on impulse.

He…

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Reviews appreciated

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Yes, I'm aware that under normal circumstances, Lestrade's duties probably wouldn't include hostage negotiations. I will explain in the next chapter. It is relevant, although only in a very minor way.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In answer to all the question YES, MOST DEFINITELY, I WILL be continuing this and all my other stories. Unfortunately I find myself with considerably less time on my hands in which to write than I did when I began so it may take a while. Please be patient, and don't worry. I would NEVER leave a story unfinished.

He acted purely on impulse.

He…

He leapt to his feet, lunging forward at the same time, placing himself between John and the oncoming bullet.

It all happened so quickly, a split second. He was pumped full of adrenaline and wired in a way he never had been before now and at first he didn't realise he'd actually been shot. At first he thought perhaps the gun hadn't gone off at all, that he'd misread the situation, after all he hadn't heard the shot or any of the other hostages screaming as he would have expected under the circumstances. He looked over at John, to check that he was okay. The doctor was staring at him, but not in the eyes. He wore an odd expression that sat somewhere between complete shock and concerned fear. Jim's eyes followed John's gaze down. That was when he realised. The front of his shirt was soaked with blood. His blood. Suddenly he felt dizzy. A new and interesting sensation but one he was in no condition to fully appreciate right now. He looked back up at John, still staring, wobbled slightly then crumpled to the floor with a strangled gasp.

The good doctor was at his side in an instant. Bonnie and Clyde stood motionless and wide eyed, seemingly in greater shock than Jim himself and the sobs and wails of the terrified onlookers finally permeated Jim's perceived silence.

"Christ!" John muttered, eyes searching Jim's torso frantically for the bullet wound, locating it in his left shoulder and pressing down firmly to slow the bleeding, causing an involuntary cry to loose itself from Jim's throat. "What the bloody Hell did you do that for? What were you thinking?"

Jim hissed and sucked in a breath.

"I was rather think… Ow ow… thinking that p… Aaah… pushing you out of the way would be quicker and more effective that just sh… fuck… just shouting at you." He stopped to suck in another breath. "A thank you would be n… nice by the way."

John blushed.

"Thanks." He whispered.

"You're welcome Doctor." Jim replied with a pained grin. "So, how bad is it?"

The doctor's brow furrowed worryingly.

"You're not going to die in the next few minutes if that's what you're asking." He answered. "But it's pretty bad. You've lost a lot of blood already. Judging by the amount I'd say the bullet just nicked your axillary artery." He paused then added quietly. "You were lucky. A few millimetres to the right and it would have torn right through it. You'd have had no chance."

Jim grimaced as the seriousness of the situation sank in.

"Don't sugar coat it Doc. Give it to me straight." He said, trying to cover up the honest to God fear he felt with a joke. Then… "Christ! This fucking hurts."

"I know." The doctor said softly, subconsciously rolling his own shoulder slightly and reminding Jim that they now had something in common. "And it's about to get worse. Sorry. But I've got to stop this bleeding." He lifted his gaze and glanced over at the other assembled hostages who were all staring at him. "I need something absorbent to soak up the blood." He told them. Nothing. "Come on, someone must have something. Nappies, sanitary towels, tampons, anything?"

A collective murmur and gentle hum of activity produced a small pile of all the things he'd mentioned as well as a small bottle of hand sanitizer and some wet wipes, for which he thanked the donors profusely. "And I'm going to need something to tie the wound off with." A male teller took off his tie and the pensioner with the wheeled trolley handed over a head scarf. John nodded gratefully and got to work.

"I'm just going to raise that shoulder for a minute. I need to check if there's an exit wound." Jim nodded and bit his lip but was unable to stifle a whimper. "Good. It's still lodged in there."

"Good?" Jim questioned.

John nodded.

"One less place to bleed from and one less hole for me to plug." Quickly he sanitized his hands, then he picked up a tampon, tore the wrapper open with his teeth, looked down at his patient and said apologetically. "This is going to hurt. A lot." He glanced over at the mothers with babies and asked again. "Teething toy?" No teething toys were immediately forthcoming but after a few seconds someone tossed him a compressed hide dog chew in the shape of a bone.

"Will that do?"

He blinked at it for a moment.

"Perfect." He shoved it in Jim's mouth and said… "Bite down hard on that." Then he pushed the tampon into the wound as far as he thought was necessary.

Jim screamed around his hide bit and fisted desperately at the carpet with his right hand until the knuckles turned white. His back arched painfully, he kicked his heels against the ground and his eyes rolled back.

"OI!" John shouted. "Don't you bloody well dare pass out on me you mad Irish tosser. Don't you bloody dare. Not yet."

The mad Irish tosser, groaned and tried to lift his head.

"Whatever you say Doc." He rasped, his throat dry from the scream.

Next, John searched the pile of pads and nappies until he found something the right size, a newborn sized nappy, unfolded it and placed it over the wound.

Bonnie had snapped out of his apparent daze by now and was staring hard at John while he worked.

"Who, and what the fuck are you?" He demanded, a shaking hand holding the gun unsteadily at his side. John didn't look up, didn't flinch, didn't stop what he was doing.

"My name is John Watson. I'm a doctor and…"

"No." The armed man cut him off. "No, you're more than that. Doctors don't do what you just did. Doctors fix up the heroes, they don't…"

"Army. I'm an army doctor." He wrapped the scarf tightly around Jim's shoulder as he spoke.

"Ex." Jim spluttered beside him.

John suppressed an annoyed growl. Was there nothing that could shut the man up?

"Ex army doctor."

"What about your boyfriend?" Bonnie nodded towards Moriarty. "He army too?" John shook his head and grabbed up the neck tie.

"No. He's…"

Jim strained his ear to hear what Doctor Watson would say. What exactly were they to one another now? Somehow the term arch enemies no longer seemed appropriate. That term had always belonged more to Sherlock than to John anyway and even if it hadn't, he'd just saved the man's life. And now here was John attempting to do the same in return. It was hardly fitting behaviour for arch enemies. Yet they were most emphatically NOT friends either, on that matter he was quite sure John was certain. Even acquaintance seemed woefully inadequate and more than a little dull given the circumstances.

"He's just Jim." John said at last, pulling the neck tie tight and fastening it with a knot. "And he needs to be in a hospital. I've done what I can for him but it's only a temporary fix. If he doesn't get proper treatment soon he could…" He left the sentence hanging but everyone knew how it ended.

"FUCK!" Clyde piped up. "What are we gonna do Tone? If he dies we're murderers."

"It was accident. I only meant to scare 'em. I never mean to shoot anyone."

"YOU THINK THEY'RE GONNA GIVE A SHIT IF IT WAS AN ACCIDENT?" Clyde yelled, waving agitatedly towards the police outside the window who Jim presumed were deploying the Special Armed Response Unit as they spoke. "If he dies we're never getting out of this. We'll do time, maybe life. I can't spend the rest of my life in prison Tone, I can't."

"SHUT UP! JUST FUCKING SHUT UP ALRIGHT! I CAN'T THINK WITH YOU SHOUTING AT ME!"

While Bonnie paced up and down, muttering under his breath and pausing occasionally to swear and kick the front of the counter, John turned the Irishman onto his side, bullet wound uppermost and settled his hand gently on Jim's forehead to check his temperature and remove the daft wig.

"Why did you save my life?" He asked after a few seconds, genuinely curious. "Why didn't you just let him shoot me?"

Jim coughed and grimaced.

"I'm not finished p… playing with you y… yet." He answered. "And besides, where would be the f… f… fun in letting someone else do it? I always thought that would b… be something I'd want to do my… myself, while Sh… Sherlock watched, helpless."

"It figures." John said, shaking his head and sighing as he leant back against the wall, fingers slipping subconsciously into Jim's hair. "I should've let you bleed to death when I had the chance."

"Yes, you should've." Moriarty answered with another spluttering cough. "But I knew you wouldn't."

"Really? Think you know me that well do you?"

"Well enough. You, Dr Watson, are a good man. Too good for your own good as my aul Grammy would ha' said." His gentle Irish brogue had grown thicker and slightly slurred with the pain and blood loss. You wouldn' let me die after takin' a bullet for ya an' all. 'Specially not in front of all da little kiddies."

The answering snort was enough to tell Jim that he was right and John knew it. That was the problem with having a conscience and Jim was glad he didn't have one.

For a moment or two Jim just lay there, surprisingly calm all things considered and enjoying the sensation of John's fingers carding through his hair.

"'s cold." He murmured after a while.

"Christ, you're shivering." The doctor removed his hand, much to Jim's disappointment and shucked off his jacket which he lay over Jim like a blanket. "Better?"

"Ta." A pause. "S'pose tha' trip to da hospital's still a way off?"

"Yeah. Sorry."

John shifted a little where he sat then straightened his shoulders and called out to Bonnie.

"Your friend's right you know. About it being murder if Jim dies." Bonnie stared at him blankly. "He's getting worse. He's lost too much blood, he's going into shock. He needs to be in a hospital." Nothing. "Please, before it's too late."

Jim barely heard John's last few words, he was beginning to fade, but he fought hard to stay conscious, not wanting to miss anything.

"Fuckfuckfuckfuck!" Bonnie muttered, pacing the floor one more time before finally picking up the telephone receiver which still hung where he had dropped it earlier. "You still there..… Lestrade was it? …..Yeah, but it was an accident. …..I never meant for the gun to go off, it was just for show, I panicked. …..Yeah, he's still alive but it's bad. …..There's a doctor here, says he's going into shock and needs to get to hospital or he'll die. …..We ain't murderers, it was an accident. …..You better not be bullshitting me. …..Okay, okay, yeah, we'll surrender, you can come and get him."

That was the last thing Jim heard before he finally passed out.

 

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Reviews appreciated


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: A tad more serious this chaper. No Jim in this one I'm afraid, but there is a Greg and a Sherlock, who I hope I've done justice. Jim will be back in the next chapter.

The whole road had been closed off. There were police cars and ambulances everywhere and what seemed like a million gawkers and relieved family members. Unsurprisingly, the press had got wind of the situation early on and had arrived on the scene only a few minutes or so after the police and were now all desperately clamouring to get a quote and maybe an interview from one hostage or another. John himself had declined several attempts at such with an angry glare and a terse 'No Comment'. Bloody vultures.

Draped in a shock blanket and perched on the ambulance steps, he stared ahead, watching as the paramedics loaded Moriarty into the back of another ambulance on a stretcher. Greg stood guard. John could tell from his body language that he wasn't entirely convinced that this whole thing wasn't part of some bigger and infinitely more devious plan of Moriarty's. He couldn't really blame him, it was Greg's job to be suspicious and well, it was Moriarty. But Greg hadn't been there, he hadn't seen the man literally jump to his defence, he hadn't held him while he bled out, he hadn't been the one, genuinely afraid in spite of everything, that the stupid Irish git might actually die in his arms. Sadistic super-criminal he might be, but John didn't like to lose a patient.

He inhaled a long deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Shit. This was definitely going to go down as the most bizarre day in the personal history of John Watson which, considering he lived with Sherlock Holmes, was saying something.

Greg said something to one of the paramedics before the ambulance doors were shut, John couldn't hear what above all the ongoing commotion but he figured he'd find out soon enough. After a moment Greg shook the woman's hand and began walking towards him, stopping for a minute to assist Donovan who was simultaneously trying to take a statement and fend off an over pushy reporter, with only moderate success.

"They reckon he'll live." He said, leaving Donovan to it and taking a seat beside John. "Actually congratulated you on a first class job. Plugging him up with a tampon was inspired apparently, a stroke of genius she said."

Greg flashed him a grin and John returned a strained chuckle.

"You learn to improvise when you're patching blokes up in the field." He said "It's nice to know I haven't lost it." He paused briefly. "Anyway, what are you doing here? Isn't there usually a specialist hostage negotiation team or something for this sort of thing?"

"Usually, yeah, but they got stuck the wrong side of a shit cart. A lorry lost it's load, half a ton of crisp n dry all over the road." He glanced over at Donovan. "We were close so we took the call."

"Oh." John nodded. Greg was silent for a moment, then…

"What the bloody Hell happened in there John? I've got a bank full of witnesses and two armed robbers all saying the same thing, and it still doesn't make a blind bit of sense."

John choked out another chuckle.

"Well, I was there, right in the middle of it." He said. "And it doesn't make a Hell of a lot of sense to me either." He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. "So what are they saying then, this bank load of witness of yours?"

"That you and him are both heroes. You I don't doubt for a minute, but laughing boy…" He waved his hand absently in the direction of the spot Moriarty's ambulance had just vacated and shook his head. "No bloody way. He's more likely to be behind it if you ask me."

John shrugged his shoulders.

"Not this time. As unlikely as it sounds, they're right. He saved my life. Jumped right in front of a bullet that was meant for me. He didn't even think, he just did it." A deep furrow creased his forehead and he shook his head disbelievingly. "I'm still trying to get my head around that."

Greg raised an eyebrow.

"He saved your life, and you returned the favour?"

"Yeah. Mad right?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Christ! What was I thinking? I should've done everyone a favour and left him to bleed."

"Nah. You wouldn't be you if you'd done that." Greg offered, a strange sort of consolation.

"That's pretty much what he said." John grumbled quietly, then he took a deep breath, gave himself a mental shake and asked…

"What's going to happen to him once they've operated? How long before you can lock him up?"

"We're not going to be locking him up."

John shot him a look of utter incredulity.

"Why the fuck not?" He asked. "He's Jim fucking Moriarty for Christ's sake, consulting criminal extraordinaire."

"Suspected consulting criminal." Greg corrected. "We haven't got a single scrap of physical evidence connecting him to anything, the bastard's too clever for that. It's one thing to know he's involved in something John, but proving it is another matter altogether.

"He strapped me to a sodding bomb." John's jaw was tight, his voice barely more than an angry hiss. Until now he'd assumed the only reason Moriarty wasn't already behind bars was because they hadn't been able to find him and now he found out there was nothing they could've done about him even if they had.

"And he had to dope you up to the eyeballs to do it."

"What difference does that make?"

"It means any testimony you might give would be considered unreliable. The case would get thrown out in five seconds flat. We need more."

"What about Sherlock? He was there. He's a witness."

"Sherlock knows as well as we do that an ex junkie with a criminal record isn't any more reliable as a witness than a drugged up ex soldier with PTSD." John winced visibly at that and then so did Greg. "Shit! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that to sound as harsh as it did."

"I know." He exhaled loudly and closed his eyes, just for a second. "You're right. It's not your fault, it's just so… bloody frustrating. We've finally got him pinned down, where he can't get away and we can't actually keep him there."

Greg rested his hand on John's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"We'll get him. Might take a while, but we'll get him."

"And in the mean time, he gets to bask in his own glory while everyone moons over him and tells him what a hero he is."

"That's about the size of it, yeah." There was brief pause. "Look, it's been a day and a half for you. We're going to want an official statement but that can wait 'til tomorrow. You should probably go to the hospital and get yourself checked out."

The doctor shook his head.

"I don't need to go to hospital."

"You sure?"

"I ache all over and my head's pounding from where I head butted that bloke but it's nothing a cup of tea and an early night won't fix. I just want to go home Greg."

The inspector nodded.

"Fair enough. I'll get one of my lot to drive you." He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled loud enough to make half the assembled masses lift their heads and look at him.

"No. It's alright. I'll walk. I could do with the fresh air anyway."

The other man raised an eyebrow.

"You're going to walk? Through the middle of London? Looking like that?" He questioned, nodding towards John's lap.

John looked down at himself and grimaced. He'd gone into doctor mode the second he'd realised what had happened, focussing all of his attention on his patient and ignoring everything else. But now he was suddenly acutely aware of the blood that soaked his jeans and jumper and the shirt underneath. He was covered in Moriarty's blood. No, his brain told him, not Moriarty, Jim. In there he'd been just Jim, he was covered in Jim's blood. He grimaced again, then shook his head. Since when had he started thinking of Moriarty and Jim as two different people? When Jim jumped in front of that bullet, that was when. Christ, he didn't think he'd ever get his head around that.

"Bollocks." He grumbled for want of anything more appropriate to say. "They were my best jeans too." A long, shuddery breath. "So, no walking home then."

Greg slapped him on the shoulder then called out to a young officer John was unfamiliar with.

"OI!" The young man stepped towards them quickly.

"Constable…?

"Metcalfe, Sir."

"Constable Metcalfe, take this man home."

"Yes Sir."

 

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Somehow or another, John's legs remained steady enough to drag him up the stairs to the front door of the flat. Without thinking he reached for his keys, swearing under his breath when he realised they were in the pocket of his jacket, the one he'd used to cover Jim earlier when his temperature had dropped. He'd have to call Greg later and ask him which hospital they'd taken Jim to so he could pick them up tomorrow. That didn't help him get into the flat right now though.

"Fuck it." He muttered, louder this time and raised his hand to knock on the door. The likelihood of Sherlock, if he was even in, getting off his arse to answer the door was slim, but what choice did he have? He didn't have the strength to tackle the stairs again and ask Mrs Hudson for the spare.

"It's not locked." A deep baritone voice called out just before his knuckles made contact with the door. Of course Sherlock would've heard him coming.

With a relieved sigh, he pushed open the door and trudged wearily through it.

"You're late." Sherlock informed him coolly, not bothering to open his eyes or move from his reclining position on the settee.

"Yeah, about that. I've had a bit of a busy day."

"Yes. Bank robbery. It was on the news. You're still late. Pass my phone would you, it's on the table."

John stared silently for a moment then huffed in what really shouldn't have been disbelief and picked up the phone. He was seriously tempted to throw it at the man's head, his arm even twitched but he was too tired to worry about aiming so instead he grit his teeth and handed the phone over.

"I'm fine by the way, in case you were worried."

"Why would I be worried?"

"Because…" John began, doing his best to keep his voice calm and even though he wasn't sure why. "That's what friends do. They worry about one another. Especially when one of them was just held at gunpoint by two armed robbers, or comes home covered in blood."

At last the detective opened his eyes and cast a perfunctory glance at his flatmate.

"Clearly the blood is not yours John or you wouldn't be standing here. It doesn't take a doctor to know that. And besides, Lestrade would have informed me if you'd been seriously harmed. I really don't see why you think I should be worried."

Okay, so John couldn't fault Sherlock's logic and he silently admitted that the man did have a point. It didn't stop John from feeling annoyed.

"Don't you even want to know who's blood it is and why I'm covered in it?"

Sherlock sighed and finally turned his head to look directly at John.

"Obviously the blood is Moriarty's and you're covered in it because you saved his life."

John stood open mouthed for a moment.

"How, could you possibly know that.?"

"Really John, it's quite simple. The news reports stated that a man was shot but not killed, you're a doctor, a very good one, and you're covered in blood that's not yours, the amount of which suggests that the man's injury was potentially life threatening, ergo, you saved his life. Now, the fact that you asked if I wanted to know who's blood it was means that it's somebody I know and there are very few people that it might be deemed I should care about, fewer still that I actually do care about. If it had been any one of them Lestrade would have informed me, if not him you and you would have been more direct than you're being right now, therefore it's not anyone that I care or should care about. That leaves only one other person. Moriarty." He paused to take a short breath. "Now you're going to ask me to deduce why he was shot and again the fact that you're even asking means there was more to it than a random hostage shooting, it also means you think I should be interested in the reason. Also, the way your brow is currently furrowed is different than the way it furrows when you're marvelling at my deductions which suggests that your mind is conflicted. Putting all of that together the most likely scenario is that he was shot in an attempt to stop you from the same. As to why i think he would do something like that, which is undoubtedly going to be your next question, I'd say it was because he hasn't finished playing with us yet and didn't want the game to end early. I doubt that he actually meant to take the bullet himself, that was just an unforeseen complication."

John remained silent for several long seconds while he processed everything Sherlock had just said.

"That…" He said eventually. "Was…"

"Brilliant. Yes."

Several more seconds passed in silence, John stood motionless, more than a little stunned. At last he seemed come back to his senses. He gave himself a shake and said, calmly.

"I'm going to have a shower. Put the kettle on while I…" Sherlock simply raised an eyebrow. "Never mind, I'll do it myself when I get out." He said with a sigh as he turned to leave the room.

"Probably best that way." Sherlock called after him as he disappeared. "It'll give you something to do, so you don't dwell on things."

 

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Reviews appreciated


	9. Chapter 9

Since meeting Sherlock, John had found himself in the position of having to make a statement to the police more times than he could actually count. It wasn't something that bothered him typically but this time, he had to admit, he was dreading it. Despite what he'd told Lestrade yesterday, a nice cup of tea and an early night really hadn't fixed shit, largely because even though he'd gone to bed early, he hadn't actually managed to get a wink of sleep. Everything was still such a muddle in his mind, it was all so unbelievable that he wasn't at all sure he was remembering everything correctly and just thinking about gave him a massive headache.

His statement hadn't really added anything new to what Lestrade had already learned from the other witnesses either. Other than a more detailed account of his and Jim's involvement and in particular the why's, when's and how's that no one else had been privy to but them, all he'd done was corroborate the statements given by the rest of the hostages. Lestrade assured him this was a good thing. Apparently the more corroborative accounts they had the better because even though the two blokes had confessed there was always a chance they might recant or that a clever lawyer could find a way to exploit some small discrepancy.

All in all, John was glad to get it over and done with. Now he just had to find out which hospital Moriarty had been taken to and collect his keys. Then he could go home, get blind drunk and hopefully forget all about the events of the previous day.

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John jumped off the bus outside Barnet hospital, walked around the edge of the car park until he found the main entrance and went inside. For a moment, he just stood in reception and watched the bustle. At 9:45 am the place was already surprisingly busy and he was quite glad he didn't have to deal with it in a professional capacity. After a couple of minutes he started to weave his way through the swarm of bodies and shuffled towards the desk.

He cleared his throat.

"Hello, I'm…"

"Patient check in is over there." The receptionist, who's hair was more grey than blonde, said pointing in the direction of an array of computerised check in stations without even looking up.

"I'm not a patient. My name's Doctor John Watson." The woman raised her eyes and looked at him over the top of her glasses. "I'm here to… my uhm… a trauma patient was brought in yesterday with my jacket wrapped around him and my key's were in the pocket. I've come to pick them up."

"Oh." She said. "Hold on a minute and I'll see if anyone knows anything about them."

She began to search through the random sheets of paper in front of her, looking to see if there was a note from someone on the earlier shift.

John waited patiently for all of about thirty seconds.

"If it helps, Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard did call ahead to confirm they were here and let you know I was coming."

She looked up again, giving him her full attention this time. She looked to be nearing her sixties John thought. She frowned briefly then a light bulb seemed to switch itself on somewhere in her head and a bright smile suddenly spread across her face, making her appear several years younger than she had just moments ago. He smiled back awkwardly.

"Oh my goodness." She gushed. "You're him, aren't you? The chap from the news. The bank robbery. You saved that other man's life."

"I, uh, well…" John could feel a slight warmth creeping onto his cheeks. "It was nothing, really." He said, trying to downplay his heroics.

"I wouldn't say that. You're the talk of the hospital this morning." John now displayed a full blush. He sighed softly and scrubbed a hand over his face. "I expect you'll want to visit your patient while you're here." She chirped, having seemingly forgotten about his keys..

"No. It's okay. Really." In all honesty, the last thing he wanted to do was visit Jim Moriarty. "Just my keys will be fine. I know how busy you all must be, I don't want to be any trouble." He said, coming up with an excuse that wouldn't sound rude.

"It's no trouble at all." The woman continued. "I'll get someone to take you up." She glanced around the reception area until she spotted an orderly who appeared to having nothing to do. "Mitchell, would you Show Doctor Watson up to post op please?"

The curly haired orderly nodded and stepped forward obediently.

"Sure thing June." He said, lightly cupping John's elbow and guiding him away from the desk.

Realising he wasn't going to be able to get out if this, John allowed himself to be led towards the lifts, but not before asking one more time…

"My keys?

"They'll have them upstairs at the nurses station." June told him and went back to whatever it was she'd been doing before he came in.

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"A pleasure to meet you Doctor Watson." Senior staff nurse Barrington Berthonneau said, accompanying his greeting with a vigorous handshake and a toothy smile. He was a tall, lean man with a bald head, dark skin and an accent that identified him as being of Caribbean origin. "We've all been waiting for you." He nodded to a partition wall a few feet away from behind which two, much younger nursed peered.

"You have?"

"It's not often we get a chance to meet an honest to God heroes."

"I'm not a hero."

"You saved a man's life."

"Don't the Doctors here do the same thing every day?"

Staff nurse Berthonneau tipped his head back and laughed loudly.

"Sure, but they're on their home turf here so to speak. Give them a set of scrubs and a nice sterile operating theatre and there's nothing they can't do, but just between you and me, in the real world half of them would fly into a panic if you asked them to remove a splinter without a full surgical team to back them up."

John couldn't help but chuckle because though it was an obvious exaggeration, he had actually met one or two brilliant surgeons like that himself over the years.

"You kept your cool , in the middle of a bank robbery, stopped a man from bleeding to death, using feminine hygiene products no less." He grinned. "That makes you a hero in my book."

"Well, I'm not sure I agree with you but thanks anyway." He paused for a moment, then, after assuring himself that it was just out of professional curiosity, he asked quietly. "So, how's he doing anyway?"

"Mr Moriarty? He's a tough one, he's doing just fine." Okay, good, John thought, curiosity satisfied. Now get your keys and leave. "You can go in and see him if you want, while you're waiting for someone to fetch your keys. We locked them in one of the supply cupboards for safekeeping." The last part was spoken in a stage whisper, almost as if it were meant to be a secret and yet, somehow at the same time, not.

"Uhm… I haven't really…" Got time he was about to say, followed by a promise to come back later that no one but him would know he didn't intend to keep, however, the nurse interrupted him before he had a chance.

"I know he'll be mighty pleased to see you." John very much doubted that. Amused maybe but not exactly pleased. "Come on, I'll take you to him." And once again the doctor found himself being led by yet another well meaning member of staff to see a man they quite reasonably, given that they knew nothing about him, assumed that he would want to see and right now John really didn't have the energy to explain otherwise. "He didn't stop talking about you all the way here in the ambulance, so I've been told." Nurse Berthonneau continued as he took John down a short corridor to a one of the private rooms. "And he asked for you when he first came round after the operation."

"Really?" John asked. That did surprise him.

"Oh yes. And he's been asking for you on and off all morning." The nurse pushed open the door a little and poked his head round, then he pushed it fully open and gestured for John to go in. "Looks like he's sleeping at the moment." He said quietly. "But not for much longer I'll bet. We had to sedate him, to stop him moving around too much and aggravating the wound but I don't think he likes it very much. He keeps fighting it, keeps drifting in and out." Typical, John though. Even sedated the man was a pain in the arse. "Well, I'll leave you alone now." The nurse said and closed the door.

For a moment John just stood there, half afraid to enter any further into the room. After about a minute he took a deep breath, pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed in which Jim Moriarty was currently sleeping. At least he was asleep, that was something, and if luck was on his side he'd stay asleep long enough for John to spend what might be deemed a respectable amount of time and still make an escape before he actually had to deal with the man.

Even though he was connected to very little in the way of equipment, just a drip and one of those portable heart rate monitors, Jim still looked small and fragile lying beneath the hospital blue blankets, his upper torso bare so as to facilitate the easy changing of the dressing on his shoulder. It served as an uncomfortable reminder that in spite of everything, Jim was indeed human, they both were. As if yesterday hadn't been reminder enough.

Several more minutes passed and John's own lack of sleep began to catch up with him. The room seemed unnecessarily warm, as hospital rooms always did, his eyelids felt ridiculously heavy and he was finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes open. He was on the verge of dozing off completely when a soft but unexpected voice startled him awake.

"Johnny." Jim slurred, looking at him through narrow slits. His accent was even thicker from the drugs than it had been yesterday from pain and blood loss. "Boy a' you a sight f' sore eyes." Still a bit drowsy himself, John was slow to respond and Jim carried on. "I knew ye'd come."

"You did not." John said, a little more alert now.

"Did too. Ye left yer keys in yer jacket pocket. Ye'd have t' come for 'em sooner or later."

"I could have asked someone else to collect them."

The man in the bed let out a semi melodious chuckle.

"Who? Sherlock?"

Though he was loathe to admit it, Jim did have a point. The idea of Sherlock actually doing something for him out of the goodness of his heart was almost laughable. Greg would be far too busy and he couldn't expect Mrs Hudson to run around after him, even under the mitigating circumstances.

"Alright. But I didn't have to come and see you while I was here. I could've just got my keys and gone."

"But they…" He raised his arm to point towards the door, winced in pain and put it down again. "They wouldn't let ye get away wit' it. And ye didn't have th' heart t' argue. 'm I right?"

A frown of more than mild annoyance at being so easily read by Moriarty of all people, wrinkled John's forehead but rather than confirm the other man's deduction he said instead.

"If you were anyone else at all, I'd actually have wanted to know how you were doing."

When no response was forthcoming John took a closer look and realised Jim's eyes were closed again. Assuming the Irishman had drifted back off to sleep he saw this as his opportunity to leave. He stood up and crept slowly towards the door but he'd barley made it to the foot of the bed before a familiar voice murmured…

"'m t'irsty"

John tried his very best to pretend he hadn't heard anything and carry on walking but his inner doctor wouldn't let him. With a weary sigh he shuffled round to the far side of the bed and poured a glass of water from the jug on the bedside cabinet. Slipping one hand behind Moriarty's head to tilt him forward a little way he held the glass to the man's lips and let him take several long sips. When he was finished he laid the man's head back down and replaced the glass.

"T'anks."

"You're welcome."

Silence descended. Moriarty's eyes remained closed and John wondered if this time he actually had gone back to sleep. He waited a minute just to be sure, and just as he began to think that he was right, the Irishman cracked open his eyes again. John groaned quietly. Jim opened his eyes just a sliver more and blinked several times in quick succession.

"Yer all burry. Sorta ethereal lookin'. Like an angel."

He grinedn, stupidly. John rolled his eyes and snorted.

"You're high."

"Mmmm. Not high enough Johnny. Th' pankillers here 'r rubbish. This still hurts."

"Yeah, well, bullet wounds are like that." A phantom twinge of pain shot through John's shoulder but he ignored it. "You'll get used to it." He paused briefly. "Do you want me to call a doctor? A proper doctor, no, wait, that's not what I meant. Do you want me to call your doctor?"

Jim chuckled softly.

"Ye are m' doctor."

"No." John shook his head firmly. "No. I'm not."

"Doctor Johnny." The Irishman sing-songed. "This lot 'r very nice but they're not you. They're ordinary, and boring. Not like you. Yer not ordinary or boring at all, yer… Mmmm…"

"Oh for crying out loud."

" I like ye Johnny. I do. Yer…" He yawned. "Yer…"

This time when he closed his eyes there was no doubt that he'd really fallen asleep. The gentle purring snore proved it. And this time when John tried to make his escape, nothing, or rather no one, called him back.

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Reviews appreciated


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thousand apologies for taking so long to update but as I have mentioned before I have very little time to write nowadays, I mean like just a couple of hours a week if I'm lucky and even then I have other writing commitments too (which I did in fact have plenty of time for when I first started writing them). Anyway, I just want to assure people that **this story will not be abandoned** , it's all planned out in my head and I know exactly where I'm going with it, it's just going to take a while to get it written down.

It had been three weeks since the attempted bank robbery. Three weeks since Jim Moriarty had taken a bullet meant for him. Three weeks since he'd plugged the wound, stopped the bleeding and saved the criminal's life and aside from a couple of weird, half remembered dreams and the occasional comment from his colleagues at the clinic and patients who'd seen him on the news, things were more or less back to normal. Well, as normal as anything in his life could be these days.

Today was a normal day, for him. Sherlock had gone haring off after a would be murderer and some stolen medals late last night with John in tow. They'd found the bloke, and the medals relatively quickly despite their quarry having youth and agility on his side, and hung onto him until Lestrade arrived with the car shortly thereafter, but by the time they got back to the flat at a quarter past four this morning John had been bloody knackered. He'd put the kettle on, intending to have a quick cuppa before going to bed but he made the mistake of sitting down while he was waiting for it to heat up and he was asleep in his chair before it had boiled

Consequently, having not made it as far as his bedroom, he didn't hear his alarm go off and he overslept. He woke with a start, a crick in his neck, a bus to catch and barely enough time for a quick shower and a change of clothes. Breakfast was a definite no go.

It was approaching midday now and John was starting to feel the effects of his late night and skipped breakfast. His stomach had been growling loudly for the last half an hour and a couple of matchsticks wouldn't go amiss for propping his eyelids up. Thankfully he only had a morning shift which was over as soon as he saw his current patient out and he was looking forward to a bacon and egg roll in the café around the corner then going home to catch up on his sleep.

He handed the elderly woman a prescription and smiled.

"There you go Mrs Parkinson. Take one, twice a day after food and remember to finish the course even if you feel better half way through."

Mrs Parkinson nodded and thanked him. As she stood, so did John, walking around his desk and over to the door which he held open for her. She thanked him again as she left and after watching her for a few seconds he let the door swing shut and heaved a sigh of relief. He padded over to the sink in the corner to wash and dry his hands then went to his desk to turn his computer off. Just as he reached for his jacket, hanging on the back of his chair his intercom buzzed.

"What is it Claire?" He asked, trying not to sound as annoyed as he felt.

"Sorry Doc, I know your shift just ended but would you mind just seeing one more?"

"Can't someone else do it. I'm exhausted. Really. I had a late night and…"

"I already asked but he'll only see you." The receptionist paused for a moment then added apologetically. "The doctor off the telly."

John sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and biting back a string of particularly ripe swear words."

"Okay, fine, send him in."

With yet another sigh he plopped back down in his chair, switched his computer back on, closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands while he waited for it to boot up. When he heard the creak of the door he plastered a smile on his face and looked up. The smile didn't last.

"You." He hissed.

The door swung shut and Jim Moriarty stood there, bright eyed and grinning cheerfully.

"Yup. Me."

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Uhm…" He indicated his shoulder with a roll of his eyes.

"That's not what I meant. I meant what are you doing here? Here as in, my office."

"Well when I was discharged from the hospital yesterday they told me I should see my own d…"

"No!" John shook his head firmly.

"No?" Jim enquired.

"No." John reaffirmed. "I am not your doctor."

"Yes you are."

"No. I'm not. I told you before and I'll tell you again. I am not your doctor. I never was your doctor and I never will be your doctor."

"You were quite willing to be my doctor in the bank."

"No. No no no no no. That was not me being _your_ doctor, that was me being _a_ doctor. There's a difference."

"Not to me there isn't." He took a step forward and John took a mental step back. "You saved my life Doctor Watson." There was a brogue surrounding his name that made it sound different this time than it had all the other times Moriarty had said it. It was softer, less condescending somehow and it didn't send a chill through him. "You were there when I needed you most." A pause, for effect. "I need you now Doctor. It hurts. It really hurts. But I don't have to tell you that do I?"

John winced, remembering his own pain as clearly as if he'd been shot yesterday. He knew he was being manipulated, and by a master too, but he couldn't stop himself from switching to doctor mode once more for the devious Irish bastard.

"Fine." He grumbled. "I might as well have a look seeing as you're here now anyway. Sit down." Jim sat obediently, if also smugly. "And don't bloody grin at me or I'll punch you."

"Such a charming bedside manner."

"What? A broken nose will take your mind off your shoulder."

"True."

For a moment, just a moment, it almost seemed like the other man was going to say something else but nothing came.

"Jacket off then." With his uninjured limb Jim reached across himself and pushed his jacket off his shoulder where it had been hanging loosely. Beneath the jacket but over his shirt he wore a nylon covered foam sling designed to restrict his movement and prevent any unnecessary stress on his wound. "Shirt too. Top few buttons should be enough."

Moriarty made a show of trying to unbutton his shirt one handed, sighing and frowning occasionally. With just one button undone after several minutes of _trying_ he looked across the desk at John and pouted.

"Sorry. Non dominant hand. Would you mind?"

John narrowed his eyes and glared suspiciously at the Irishman. He wasn't at all sure if he'd been having genuine difficulty or if he was being manipulated again but he decided he didn't care. The quicker he got this done the quicker the other man could piss off and the quicker he could get home. If quick meant he had to partially undress Jim Moriarty himself then so be it.

"For fucks sake." He muttered under his breath as he stood up and walked around the desk. He parked his arse on the front edge and set to work on the buttons. As the second one came free his fingertips brushed lightly against the other man's collarbone eliciting from him, a soft sigh.

"You have lovely warm hands Doctor Watson." John ignored both the comment and the brogue which once again surrounded his name and continued on with the buttons.

"That should do it." He said, deciding that four buttons gave him adequate room to work. He tugged the white cotton to one side to reveal the dressing underneath and carefully peeled it back so he could inspect the wound. After several minutes of silent examination John sat up. "Well, it's not looking too bad. Nice and clean, no sign of any lingering infection. I'd have expected the stitches to have been removed by now though. What happened?"

The Irishman took his bottom lip between his teeth and wrinkled his nose.

"I uhm… I'm a bit hyperactive and fidgety."

"You surprise me." John said flatly.

"Anyway, I got frustrated not being able to do certain things for myself, threw a bit of a temper tantrum and reopened the wound.

"A temper t…" John looked suddenly horrified. "Oh God. Please tell me you didn't murder a nurse."

Jim sucked in a breath and fixed him with a look of mock indignation.

"What kind of a man do you think I am Doctor?" He asked. "Of course I didn't murder her. Not with all those witnesses around and this still needing medical attention? It was tempting though. She was particularly annoying, always fuss fuss fussing and soooooo predictable." On reflection John realised that actually, it would have been a pretty stupid thing to do under those circumstances and Jim Moriarty was anything but stupid. But now that he'd been discharged did that mean the poor unnamed nurse was fair game? "Don't panic Doc, that particular urge has passed." Jim continued having read John's expression. "She's in no immediate danger. Not from me anyway."

John let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.

"Good." He mumbled. "Good, that's good. That's, uh… yeah. Right. Well." He stood up. "I'm going to change this dressing." He said, peeling off the last corner and depositing the soiled item in a bin marked Medical Waste. He reached across his desk then to take a pair of blue latex surgical gloves from a box slightly left of centre and pulled them on with a snap. Then he located an appropriately sized sterile dressing from the shelf behind him, opened the box and set about applying it to the other man's wound.

Moriarty sat statue still and unflinching while the doctor worked but even he couldn't suppress the small shudder or the slight hiss of pain when John pressed gently against his shoulder to make sure the dressing wasn't going to move.

"Sorry." John whispered before realising who was talking to and mentally chastising himself.

"'s okay." Jim whispered back. "Wasn't that bad. You're very good with your hands."

"All done. You can do your shirt up now." John told him, ignoring the compliment but not the fact that doing up buttons appeared not to be as tricky as undoing them. _Non dominant hand my arse_ , he thought. _Bastard_. He pulled off the gloves, tossed them in the bin with the old dressing and washed his hands, then he sat back down at his desk and started typing. "I don't think you need to change that every day any more. Every other day should be fine. How are you for pain killers?"

"They only gave me a couple of days worth."

"Okay. I'm going to give you more dressings and painkillers, enough to last a week. In the meantime you will find yourself another doctor." He didn't give the other man the opportunity to argue the matter, he continued on. "I'm going to need a current address, for the records."

Jim gave him an address.

"Is that your real address?" John asked as he typed it in, already knowing the answer.

"It's _an_ address." Jim answered. "One that will look real if anybody bothers to check."

John pressed a button and a small printer whirred to life. It continued to whirr as it printed out the prescription. When it was done John tore off the piece of green paper and held it out. "Go to the pharmacy next door." He said, suddenly withdrawing his hand as Moriarty reached out to take the prescription from him. "I mean it. Find another doctor. Don't come back."

"But…" Jim pouted.

"No buts. Find. Another. Doctor." John punctuated each of his words with a glare and a small nod. "I don't want to see you back here again. If you come back, not only will I refuse to treat you, I will call the police and have you arrested for harassment. Do I make myself clear?"

"You're no fun." Jim sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll look for another doctor. Happy?"

"Not all the time you're still running around scott free no." He finally relinquished the prescription. "Now get out of my office."

Jim sighed again and turned to leave. As he reached the door he looked back over his uninjured shoulder and said with no apparent trace of humour or insincerity but once again with the brogue. "Thank you Dr Watson."

"OUT!" John hadn't intended to shout but he hadn't been able to help himself. Jim Moriarty just inspired it in him, more even than Sherlock who frequently infuriated him to the point of shouting. "NOW!"

At that, the Irishman grinned mischievously.

"Has anyone ever told you you're damn sexy when you're mad?"

John picked up the box of gloves and hurled it across the room.

"OUT!" He yelled again.

"Okay, okay. I'm going." He opened the door and stepped through, adding at the last second before letting it close behind him. "It was nice seeing you again."

John let out an exasperated growl and dropped his head into his hands.

"Fucking Hell." He grumbled. "Save a man's life and this is the thanks you get." He took a moment to calm himself and then he buzzed reception on the intercom. "Claire, it's John Watson. Can you do me a favour?"

"Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"Make a note on my appointment schedule that under no circumstance is Jim Moriarty to given another appointment. Thanks."

Well, it was better safe than sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews appreciated


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